Hush
by xXKuroshitsujifangirl96Xx
Summary: Romano explains his struggle between his Love for Spain, and his Love for his Religion. Spamano, Religious!Romano,


My relationship with Spain….Don't even get me started on it.

Now don't get me wrong, he's not a bad man, he doesn't treat me wrong, and he's nothing but kind. And that's what kills me on the inside. Just knowing he can use those things about himself to keep me wrapped around his finger. To keep me loving him.

I even find days when it's hard to breathe right from all the thoughts about what I'm doing is wrong. There are nights when I make up stories about staying with my bother, but really instead I'm renting a hotel so I don't have to sleep in the same bed with Spain.

I know lying is exactly good either, but the sins that I commit when I'm in that bed with him are far worse than lies.

No matter how much self control I try to keep, Spain always has this way of his to tempt me, to get under my skin. He gets under my skin so much that sometimes I stand in the shower, letting the hot water scold my skin until I feel cleansed and presentable enough to leave out of the house. It's especially worse after sex.

Don't even get me started on sex. At night, before entering our bedroom, I chant to myself that I won't give in. That I won't let myself commit those disgusting acts with my body. But it always proves itself useless to say that to myself.

When I enter that room, all of my sanity and all of my pureness leaves my being, only to be replaced by stains of shame and guilt. Every touch that Spain graces upon my skin soon turns to spots of remorse I wish would just go the fuck away. But they refuse. They always fucking refuse…

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy having sex with Spain. It does feel good…most of the time.

Sometimes I'll be caught up in the moment, enjoying myself. Usually this is when I'm looking at Spain, it comforts me, letting me know I'm letting someone I love enter my body. But once I close my eyes, things feel wrong. So wrong sometimes I even end up screaming during sex. Not from pain, not from pleasure, but from torture. The torture that consumes me everyday from loving this man and betraying my morals. After we're finished and Spain is asleep I usually start crying, just bawling my damn eyes out. And that's when I shower again, to try and clean myself once again.

There are times when Spain will stop during, looking concerned, I'll be confused until he starts wiping my eyes. I cry without even noticing it seems. Spain's asked me multiple times, if something's bothering. Because maybe I won't let him touch me, or maybe I spend the day praying and not saying a word.

I never mention it to him though. Something inside of my chest won't let me.

I don't blame Spain one bit, he's following his heart, while I'm following my religion. I should be happy. I have a boyfr- significant other, that loves me from the bottom of his heart and wants nothing more for me than to feel good and live happily. But why aren't I happy? It's that fucking guilt that creeps up on me every time I attempt to be happy.

The sad part is that I have no one to talk to about it. Can't talk to my fuck-tard of a brother, can't talk to Spain, Grandpa's gone….who? I have no one but my conscious and my prayer beads. The two things I depend on. I should be able to depend on my heart, but it always tells me to do the opposite thing that my conscious and my prayer beads do. And majority rules, right?

Maybe that's not right. But who's going to tell me otherwise? This was for me to decide, and making that decision was eating away at my heart day by agonising day.

It seems all that I'm good for nowadays is sinning. I'm not supposed to bed with another man, I'm not supposed to love another man, I'm not supposed to fucking even think about a man this way.

But Spain makes it terribly easy to betray my morals for him. But still, in the end, it's terribly difficult to get over knowing what I had just done was wrong.

Sometimes when Spain's sitting next to me, he'll take my hand kissing it. My heart will flutter, only to be interrupted by that damn voice in my head silently telling me to make him stop. I try and ignore it, paying attention to the Spaniard next to me. He'll smile, and ask that damn question.

"Are you happy, Romano?"

I fucking _hate_ that question.

I smile back, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"Yea, so happy I could die."

* * *

**Just a short story, kinda based on how I used to feel about my sexuality ^^'' Reviews would be lovely.**


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